Promises
by A. Windsor
Summary: Callie can't sleep after their fight on the couch. Follow up to 7x16.


Title: Promises

Author: A. Windsor

Pairing/Characters: Callie/Arizona

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. My one semester of law school could allow me to legalese this a little more, but it also tells me it's pretty useless. So please don't sue; it's not mine, I'm just playing!

Series: Zeq!verse, but totally stands alone.

Summary: Callie can't sleep after their fight on the couch. Follow up to 7x16.

Author's Note: Picks up right after _Dreams_. Kinda weirdly styled for me, just playing around.

And YES, more _Kiss the Girl_ will be up as the week goes on.

Beta'd by the wonderful roughian, though she probably won't want to take the credit.

* * *

She thinks about it, of course. She thinks about it a lot, and she wishes there was a way she could share those thoughts with Arizona without destroying her. But no, these are memories that will forever be just hers, even though the love of her life played such an important (if absent) role in making them.

She thinks about Mark's initial reluctance, his adorable, purposeful misunderstanding of her request. She thinks about how his strong hands felt on her skin, how his stubble scraped at her in a way she used to find oh so sexy. She thinks about how even in her drunken haze all she really wanted was Arizona.

_Her_ hands, a different kind of strong. _Her_ cheek, soft and smooth as it pressed against her thigh.

She thinks about how she lay in bed afterward, looking over at Mark and wishing she could close her eyes and pretend Arizona's light, dorky snores were filling her ears. How she looked at the ceiling and realized her tried and true "fuck McSteamy until it doesn't hurt anymore" just really wasn't going to work this time. If it ever really worked to begin with.

She doesn't know if this baby was conceived that first night while she stared at the ceiling or one of the other times they desperately tumbled together, searching in vain for a connection, for something to wipe away the shadows of women who just weren't there. But this baby is why she can't regret any of those tumbles.

There's a life inside of her, half Mark and half her, and there are times she wishes that weren't true. Times when she wishes she could cut Mark out of the equation, that this baby was instead one of the "ten kids" Arizona finally learned to dream about, sought after and fought for by its two mommies navigating the many options of gay parenting. Sometimes she wishes this baby had been conceived with a little more effort and forethought, instead of by drunken and lonely sex between friends thinking of other people.

She always wishes that the _who_ and _when_ and _how_ of this baby's conception wasn't something that will forever tear Arizona apart inside, no matter how in she is.

But while she will always wish that Arizona had been weeping for happiness instead of devastation in that elevator, she can never bring herself to wish away this baby, even if that means she must accept the circumstances that brought him or her into this world.

They'd made love on the couch after their argument, wine and milk discarded, but it had been scared and needy and more than a little sad. Arizona's hands could still work wonders on her, regardless of her mood, but with the ever present, ever expanding swell of her belly pressed between them, it was impossible to forget that this still wasn't Arizona's dream.

So now Callie lies awake in bed, _their _bed, staring at the ceiling, and this time Arizona's light, dorky snores _are _filling her ears. She knows she's probably going to be with Arizona for the rest of her life, knows they'll be raising this baby together and bickering with each other and with Mark, over basketball or tap (why not _both_?), bottle or sippy cup (one and then the other?), Dartmouth or Berkeley (well, Berkeley's closer...).

But she wonders if Arizona will always get that sad little look in her eye on Christmas morning when Mark walks through the door, thinking about what it should be like with their own more realistic three or four in matching pajamas and no daddy in sight. She wonders if Arizona will ever be able to look at their baby and see anyone but Mark. If Arizona will ever be able to look at their baby and really, truly see _her_ baby, not their baby with Mark, not her girlfriend's baby or even her baby with her girlfriend. Just her child. No matter how hard they all try, will she ever be Mommy?

Arizona snuffles and snorts, and Callie can't help but grin, no matter the circumstances, at how dorkily her girl sleeps. She'd missed it so very, very much in the months Arizona was away. She's glad she spent most of that time on Mark's couch, because a bed would be too still and too quiet, with no warm body to snuggle against. She'd missed the sex, of course, but sleeping alone had really been the hardest part. And even later, in his expansive bed, Mark's hard angles and her own gnawing guilt had made what limited snuggling there was awkward and nowhere near the same.

Callie's grin only gets wider as Arizona rolls towards her, arm thrown across her as the worry smoothes from her brow at the contact. Arizona's hand is flat against Callie's baby bump and as she inches closer, Callie can feel her warm breath against her shoulder. Her own worries begin to fade for now, the closer Arizona gets to her.

"Go to sleep, Calliope," Arizona groans, voice scratchy with sleep, and breaks the quiet of their bedroom.

"I can't," Callie breathes.

"Is everything okay with the baby?" Arizona asks, eyes still firmly shut but genuine concern in her voice.

"Our baby is fine. I think he or she is actually sleeping. I'm just thinking."

"What are you thinking about?" Arizona indulges, already half-asleep again.

"How much I love you," Callie whispers into the dark, and it's not a lie, because underneath everything, it's all she ever really thinks about.

Arizona's eyes peek open.

"I'm sorry I don't say it enough."

Those impossibly blue eyes water just a little as Callie rolls to face her, happy when Arizona's hand stays firmly in place, sliding around to the small of her back and stroking almost unconsciously. Callie's hand moves to Arizona's cheek and she presses her forehead into her girlfriend's.

"I've never loved anyone the way I love you, and it's so scary, and everything's so fucked up. I can't watch you walk away again, and I never want to be apart, but I don't want to spend the rest of our life fighting."

"Calliope..."

"We have to do what's best for the baby. And I really think all three of us are what's best for the baby. But not if its moms are always fighting or its mom and dad are always fighting or its dad and other mom are always fighting. Or its very well-meaning father is always yelling about whose baby it is. I'll talk to Mark. I promise I'll talk to Mark. Just promise me you can make this your dream someday. Please. I just need to know that someday you won't be so sad. I can't be the one that makes you so sad."

"Calliope," she says again, scootching even closer, her belly pressed into Callie's, tight against their baby.

"I can give you time; you just have to-"

Arizona cuts her off with a firm kiss.

"I promise." Another kiss. "I promise. I promise. I'm so sorry. I promise."

"Don't be sorry; just be here. I miss your smile." Callie runs her thumb down Arizona's cheek to where she knows there's a treasure too long hidden. "I miss these dimples. Our baby is going to love these dimples. They'll make him or her feel safe and loved. I know I talk about Mark a lot, but when I think about our baby being rocked to sleep, Mark's not the one sitting in the chair holding him: you are. And maybe Mark will be here on Christmas morning, but when I think about it, I think about her running in and waking us up because Santa's come, and you're the one lying next to me. You're always the first one she jumps on, because she knows her mami is dangerous when you wake her. You're my dream, too. And this baby is my dream. I know I have an easier time letting Mark into this dream than you do, I know that, but you're still the center of my dreams. That's _my_ promise."

"I love you," Arizona swears.

Callie's heard those words and their many variations a million times since Arizona arrived from Malawi, but they still send a little thrill. Arizona didn't need time to learn to say those words: she said them first, and most often, and no matter what else is going on in their lives, Callie always believes them. Now she's going to spend the rest of her life making sure Arizona believes her when she says them.

"I want all of that, too," Arizona continues. "I promise; all I need is time, and for you to listen." She kisses her again, slower, softer, another promise. "And right now, what I need and you need and our baby needs, is sleep. Can you sleep yet?"

"Hold me and I know I'll manage."

* * *

fin


End file.
